


Restless Dreamer

by Nymaria



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 11, Alternate Universe - Genie/Djinn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Castiel in the Bunker, Depressed Dean, Djinnverse (Supernatural), Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hallucinations, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Nightmares, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 11, Team Free Will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 03:09:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5692336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymaria/pseuds/Nymaria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a djinn case in Iowa and Cas insists on tagging along, it escalates when Dean is abducted by the monster and forced to live through his greatest fears.</p><p>  <em>He was back at the barn, the First Blade gripped tightly in his fist as he fought a desperate battle against Cain.<br/>Something deep inside him knew it wasn't real, that he'd killed him already, but he couldn't stop the cycle from repeating itself.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was so fucking tired of being tired. 

The way his limbs refused to move properly, how his damned head felt like a distant unconnected part of his body, like something enveloped and wrapped in cotton and how his eyes were sticky and red with a slight burning sensation at the edges. Just one time, he wished he could get a full night's sleep. No trudging around the bunker at odd hours, lying awake on his comfortable, memory-foam mattress for hours on end, or stupid nightmares plaguing him deep into the night.

Alas, wishful thinking.

Going into the kitchen he spotted Sam at the table, right as his brother was sitting down and fiddling with his shoes. He was humming to himself, some stupid pop song probably, and Dean looked on in bewilderment.

"What the hell are you wearing? Are you going outside like this? " he asked irritated, ignoring Sam's cheerful behaviour.

Sam startled a litte at his voice, then gave him his patented bitch face and said, "Good morning to you too, Dean. And it's called jogging these days. You should try it sometime. "

Dean mustered his black training pants and the grey sweater, running shoes completing the outfit. Then his eyes wandered to the kitchen clock and he sighed in exasperation. What normal person went jogging at half past six? Yeah, his health freak of a little brother apparently.  
It wasn't even warm outside, for god's sake last time he went outside it was snowing.  
"Ugh, have fun, I guess? " he said dubiously. 

Sam smiled at the concession and nodded. "You could come if you want?"

Like hell he was going jogging at the crack of dawn! Thank you, but he worked out enough what with hunting monsters, demons and all the crap of the world. No reason to freeze his balls off to _exercise_. 

Laughing at his expression, Sam got to his feet, ready to start his work out, when he paused and mentioned, "Cas found a case."

"What? Really?" That was certainly surprising, considering the dude hadn't come out for more than a moment in weeks. Cas had barricaded himself in front of the tv in his room, and god hadn't that idea, to give him his own room and tv, been an epic fail? Damn it, Dean couldn't even remember the time they'd last exchanged more than a few words and now he was talking to Sam about a hunt? What the fuck! 

"Yeah, caught me by surprise, too. He thinks it might be a djinn, I don't know apparently there are signs. Lots of missing people over the years." 

"Doesn't hurt to check it out, I guess", Dean admitted, shrugging. 

"Just so you know, Cas wants to come along" Sam said, shooting him a wary glance, as he checked over his running gear.

"Wait, what? What the hell is he thinking? The guy's secluded himself in his room for weeks and now he suddenly wants to hunt?"

Sam stilled and looked at him. "Dean, this could be a good thing. We should give him a chance. And, you know, after the whole thing with Claire and her mum, he feels responsible."

"He's totally out of it. You trust him to have your back like this?"  
Dean scoffed and stared back, not letting himself be talked around. He hated it when Sam got all rational and calm like he was some hothead that didn't know his stuff. 

"It's Cas, Dean. We'll manage." It's not like Sam had to point at the one thing, he couldn't really object to. Because _it's Cas_ and that would be enough in any case. If Cas needed to hunt some djinn to get closure and feel like he hadn't failed at protecting Claire - although he honestly kind of did - so be it, they would help. 

He sighed. "Alright. " It felt like an enormous concession, especially considering the big grin flitting across his brother's face. 

"So, we doing Christmas this year?" Sam asked brightly and headed for the fridge.

"What kind of question is that?"  
Sam ignored him and Dean watched him go through the drinks, dismissing the coke and passing the beer, until his hand rested on a weird green concoction he'd never seen before, at least not in their fridge. Sam took out the glass bottle of green sludge with a triumphant 'Ah' and a muttered 'Knew there was still some left'.

Dean eyed the vile, liquid _something_ and couldn't stop himself from asking with a mixture of curiosity and horrified fascination, "Where do you even buy this shit?"

"It's called a smoothie, Dean and you know I like them. They're healthy and full of numerous vital vitamins, and yes they taste good. And I didn't buy this, I made it." At Dean's look of incomprehension, Sam laughed a little and pointed towards a - huh, what the hell? - mixer on the counter right next to the fridge. When did that happen?  
As if reading his thoughts Sam explained, "I bought it two months ago at a sale. It's very cost efficient, since I can blend my own smoothies now. This one contains -"

"Thanks! I don't want to know what's in there besides that it's green and leafy, alright?" Dean interrupted with an exaggerated shudder. 

" - spinach, milk, an apple, a banana, oats, a little coconut oil and hmm... I think cinnamon", added Sam relentlessly and laughed at Dean's disgusted expression. "Want a sip?"

"Sometimes I can't believe that you're my brother", Dean groaned, waving his hand in the universal gesture of stay-away-from-me.

Sam smirked at him. "It's great for pre-workout", he said, drinking the smoothie with an exceptionally fake expression of bliss, then effortlessly switched the subject to their previous discussion, "Well, I mean, what about presents?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Why, you want anything special?"

"No, I don't really care, you know that. It's just, this is Cas first Christmas with us. Did you get him something?"

Dean scowled. "Go jogging, Sammy. "

"Good", he said with a knowing half smile, "I was thinking, maybe a book about all the various human cultures in modern times, their conventions and customs. Cas might find that interesting, right? Still got some days to order something." 

"Yeah", was Dean's lacklustre response and he made shooing motions to get Sam out of the door. 

"No, really, I think it would be nice to have a real Christmas for once!" 

"Why the heck would you want that?" They never had before, not even with Bobby. It was just something not done in hunter circles, well, maybe those with kids and families did celebrate, who knew. Not that John had ever bothered. True, he tried his best, but Christmas time was usually when all the monsters and crazies crawled out of the woodwork.

"Just, could be our last one... with the three of us", Sam uttered hesitantly.  
Dean swallowed hard. The first and the last, huh? He thought about it with dread churning in his stomach.  
Neither mentioned the Darkness, but it was on both their minds.

"What, you want a tree too?" Dean asked in mock resignation, a prickle of warmth shooting through him as he imagined a big fir tree with colorful baubles and lights like in the movies or shop windows. It would look totally out of place at the bunker, and yet...

Sam grinned at him, recognising the signs of him giving in. "Actually, yes, I do."

"You're such a weirdo", Dean commented, shaking his head in disbelief at the perfect picture of childish delight his big lug of a brother just made. Seriously, those puppy-dog eyes.

 

***

 

Sometimes Dean dreamed.

There were the usual ones of hell, being tortured, torturing souls himself and losing all hope. Those never fully went away, only stopped for a while and gave him a breather. 

Then there were the stupid, fairytale ones in which their parents were still alive and Sam and him had a simple, ordinary kind of life, without monsters or demons or angels. Everything would be impossibly prefect with them experiencing every little, mundane thing they'd always wanted to. From driving lessons, to learning how to bake mum's pie, to cramming for tests and getting a degree. It's funny how things seemed to crop up in dreams, that he hadn't thought about for years. Ironically Cas was a frequent addition, always human and appearing randomly as a friend of Dean or Sam or both, but always _there_.  
Waking up was hard on those days, feeling disoriented for a moment and on one crushing instance even wondering what to get for mum's birthday. They always left him with a mess of constricting feelings in his chest, a bittersweet taste in his mouth and the faint urge to retch. 

But yeah, he got the whole plate of nightmares, dreams of purgatory, of being a demon, of Sam dying and Cas dying. Of Ellen, Joe, Bobby, Benny, Kevin and Charlie. 

But none of those were the worst kind. No, that was reserved for hearing Cain's voice spouting prophesies over and over and not knowing whether it was all just some stupid bullshit, that had wormed itself into his head somehow, or whether his destiny had been sealed by taking the Mark. 

And if by fighting fate and releasing the curse, he had doomed them all.  
Because it was like this, looking straight at it, ultimately his actions had brought about the second apocalypse. 

The only cure he'd found against dreaming was fairly easy: don't sleep. Worked every time.  
If you have to, well, being drunk as fuck usually helped.

 

***

 

Dean stumbled drunkenly into the kitchen, feet dragging behind him. He crashed into one of the kitchen chairs, as he fumbled for balance. His head felt fuzzy, the world around him seemed unsteady, lurching towards him in odd places and had an altogether unreal feel to it.  
In a haze, he shook his head, trying to break free from the dreamlike quality of his vision.

Goddamnit, he knew better than that! It had been months some he'd felt this out of control that it seemed like a good idea to drink himself into a stupor. And he absolutely hated the fact that he could recognise how sloshed he was. Took the buzz right out of it.

Another bottle might help that, he thought sardonically, eyeing the tempting half full bottle of whisky someone had thoughtfully left on the kitchen counter, right next to the new mixer. Sammy, maybe? 

He shouldn't though. He was supposed to be resting, since the plan was to get an early start tomorrow.  
Today. 

Somehow Cas had caught wind of a hunt on the border to Iowa, how he'd found the time to do that with all the netflix binging he was doing simultaneously, mystified him. Apparently it had all the signs of something involving the kind of djinns that sucked on the fear of their victims, and wasn't that a nice thought? 

Cas seemed to consider it a personal duty to off those bastards, their sort had killed Claire's mum after all. 

Anyway, they were going to Iowa in the morning and he needed the distraction the alcohol could provide, otherwise it would be impossible to get any kind of sleep, because, shoot him, but he couldn't forget about Amara. 

Couldn't forget the monster he'd released into this world, a monster he shared some strange connection with. He felt bound somehow. Something deep within him refused to truly hurt Amara in any way - and it was driving him nuts! 

Sure he'd tried to shove a knife into her belly, not that he'd really thought it would succeed. Wasn't the first time that move epically failed to work.  
They were talking God's freaking _sister_ here! With all the effort (or rather lack of it) he'd put into killing her, he could have as well just saved himself the trouble and got right down to the love confession. 

Fuck, she'd kissed him. And what the hell had he done? Yeah, try _nothing_.

 

God knows what the heck he was doing. 

Hah, maybe not.  
He grinned to himself, silently saluting god with the bottle in his hand in an epic kind of fuck-you-gesture and took a deep swallow of the liquid. Huh, couldn't even feel the burn anymore.  
If only his thought could be numbed as easily as his tongue.

Damnit, he was supposed to be a hunter, saving and protecting innocent people was his job!  
Amara was fucking with his head, why did he even take the time to talk to the soulsucking beast? 

Dean sighed, and sank down on a conveniently placed kitchen chair, bottle still in hand.  
Maybe because lately he'd realised that far too many of his friends were less than human. His dad's black and white policy was more than ineffective in these times. Truthfully, he wouldn't have it any other way. Sometimes people could be monstrous as well, just look at all those psycho serial killers, so why shouldn't monsters be able to act like good people? 

Maybe it helped that he'd met guys like Benny and Garth along the way. Even Crowley in a way, though mostly when it suited his own interests. 

And there was Cas of course.  
No need to wonder what John Winchester would have thought of _that_.

The bottle slid through his fingers and shattered on impact with the floor, whisky splashing in all directions.

Shit. Sam would be pissed. 

He fuzzily heaved himself over to the sink and filled one of the glasses with cool water from the tap. Maybe the water would help a little with the headache, though hopefully he wouldn't sober up too quickly. Raising the glass to his lips, he took a few sips, when his gaze landed upon his arm. 

The skin looked smooth and undamaged. There was no bright red scar winding across his arm, no dark destiny to keep him awake at night. 

The Mark was gone. The curse had been lifted weeks ago, but Dean still forgot sometimes, it had become such a central part of himself after all.  
In theory it was easy, his own life should be back on track with his focus being on destroying the threat of the Darkness, that he and his brother had unwittingly released.

Only it wasn't that simple. Wearing the Mark had changed something fundamental within himself. Even with it gone, Dean himself wasn't the same person he'd been before. Maybe that was why the bloodlust was still his ever-present companion and his thirst for violence hadn't abated yet.

Of course he hadn't told Sam, because how fucked up was that? For god's sake, he'd killed Death to get free and though the physical reminder of the Mark was gone, he didn't feel liberated, but as cursed as before. Perhaps more so.

With that refreshing thought on mind he got to his feet with the intention to finally stumble to bed.

To sleep and perchance to dream. 

 

***

 

Iowa, Rockfield, outside of police station:

When they finally arrived another person, a girl this time, had been abducted. The count of victims had increased to five and judging by the hectic bustling around the station, the police officers seemed to be under a lot of stress from the government and the public. 

"So, this sound like a djinn to you?", he asked Sam, leaning against the Impala and surreptitiously shuffling in his jacket for the painkillers he'd stuffed in this morning. If that got him a disapproving frown from Sam, so what, he had the hangover from hell and the headache was literally killing him where he stood. 

Some police officer with the name of Murray had just reluctantly filled them in about all the recent abduction cases in the area, every second in his company made it apparent that he didn't want to hand the case over and generally wasn't very fond of his dear colleagues in the FBI.

Sucker.

Anyway, with a little posturing, they'd got the info they wanted.

Sam hesitated with his answer, obviously going through the facts in his mind once more. "It could be a case", he finally agreed. "Also possible this is just another deranged kidnapper. Still, better safe than sorry."

"How 'bout you, Cas?"

His eyes wandered to the angel, mustering his stiff form. And okay, so Cas looked shitty and kind of depressed, but at least he was committed enough to Claire that they'd managed to drag him out of his room, away from the netflix.

"There is a very high probability that we will encounter a djinn feeding on fear here", was his rather bland response.

Great.

"Okay, so it's settled. We'll look into it. First we got to take a look at the witnesses. How 'bout you two check out the elderly couple, Black was the name I think, and I hit the bar and see what I can do about that waitress, Trisha. She claims to have been one of the last to speak with Stacy before her capture."

Sam scowled at him in obvious in judgement. "And your interest in Trisha has nothing to do with her long legs? Or other... assets?"

Dean clutched at his heart in mock offense. "I'm only interested in her continued wellbeing and the information she can give us about the djinn. Doesn't hurt that she works in a bar though, or that she's a hot blonde babe."

He winked at his brother and when he didn't show any reaction beside a marked eyeroll, he turned to Cas and smirked filthily. The guy just smiled in his flasher tench-coat and gave him a painfully obvious thumbs-up.

Yeah, that was Cas for you. 

"Good luck, Dean", he said, then walked over to Sam's Charger and it really was a good thing his brother insisted and they'd come with two cars. For a moment the angel looked mournful, obviously still not over his golden, ugly as fuck pimp-car. Cas had been so glad, when Sam thought he'd found the piece of crap in their search for Metatron, he'd lit up like a Christmas tree and honest to god squeezed the life out of first Sam and then Dean himself. The disappointment was great when it turned out the report was wrong and there was no Continental.   
Heck, even Dean had felt bad at Castiel's sad expression. Admittedly, Dean might have been getting fond of that car, if only because of his friend's infectious pleasure. 

"Don't get drunk, Dean, I mean it", Sam interrupted quietly and gave him an intense look. Right, obviously he hadn't forgotten about this morning. Dean winced and reluctantly nodded.  
To be honest, Sam had every right to be pissed at him. It wasn't every morning, you go down for breakfast, only to find your brother passed out on a pile of broken glass and in a pool of whisky and his own vomit. Dean could still feel the little wounds that littered the skin of his right arm, where he'd crashed to the floor and consequently the shards.

"Yeah, don't worry. Take care, and keep an eye on Cas. Dude's still a little shaky, and you know how he is with witnesses."  
They both grimaced as they remembered Castiel's tactful questioning methods. 

"I'll make sure he doesn't accuse anyone of murder this time", Sam acknowledged, smiling, then they parted ways. 

 

***

 

Johnny's bar was dingy place, old decor, dark corners and almost empty, when he arrived. Only three other men in and he spotted Trisha right away behind the counter, washing some glasses. 

"So, Trisha, right?" he drawled, giving her a taste of his sultry voice and enjoyed observing her involuntary reaction. The busty blonde leaned forward on the counter, exposing her rather low-cut décolleté and smiled at him.

"That's right, what can I do for you, Agent Smith? A glass of whisky maybe?" Her throaty voice went perfectly with her sexy appearance and alright, being called 'agent' might have been a turn on. 

He coughed.  
"No, thank you. I don't drink while working", he said, eyeing the bottles mournfully. "There are just some follow up questions to take care of, if you don't mind?"

Her expression turned appropriately serious considering the topic.  
"Of course. It's not very busy right now, so Nicole can handle it." She gestured to a plain, brunette girl and told her to take over for a while. Dean took her aside and they went to an empty table in a corner booth to talk uninterrupted. 

"How can I help you, sir?" she asked nervously, fingers drumming on the tabletop. However, that wasn't a suspicious reaction, he was posing for FBI after all.  
"You said in your statement to the police that you didn't know Stacy well, right?"

"No, she's a regular, but we don't talk much, I just see her around." She shrugged helplessly. 

"And you saw her last night, when you went to the dumpsters in the back?"

"Yeah, I recognised her, you know. I think she was on her way home, she looked tired and just had had her last drink for the evening. I didn't call out to her, or anything. Just went back inside", she said quietly, gloomily staring at her feet.  
"Maybe I should have said something to her. "

Dean sighed and really looked at her. She was still so young.  
"Look Trisha, it's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything, okay?"

She nodded at him, but tears were shining in her eyes and Dean couldn't deal with this. Nor did he want to.  
"So let's just focus on the facts here. You didn't notice anything strange? A certain smell perhaps, light flickering or something? Anything would be helpful."

"No, sorry", the girl mumbled quietly, shaking her head.

And yeah, that was a bust. Hopefully Sam and Cas would have more luck, or they would have to try to find some new evidence tomorrow. He should head back to the motel now, though a little whisky would be extremely welcome. 

But he'd promised Sam, so no deal. A look at Trisha's teary face confirmed that his other evening plans had been derailed as well. Anyway, she was too young for him, must be just barely over 20 and despite appearances and her flirty behaviour, she was a little too innocent for a guy like him, who was only after a little fun and would disappear faster than she could blink.

"It's just so sad, what with Freddie-" Trisha broke into tears and started to sob into her hands. 

Dean was somewhat flummoxed by the sudden turn of events.  
"Shhh, it's alright, okay?" He tried to calm her down, yet met with little success.  
"Who's Freddie anyway?" he thought irritated. 

And apparently he'd said that out loud, because Trisha looked up at him and answered, "He's a guy that comes around sometimes. We even went out a couple of times, didn't work out though. But he's always nice and we kind of started to become friends. And now he's gone, too."

Wait, what?  
"You mean, the guy's name is Frederick Kingsley? He's one of the other victims?"

She nodded. "It was all over the news. Nobody knows what happens to them, there are no ransom demands, so it could be a serial killer." She shivers at the thought, clearly disturbed. "Poor Freddie", she murmured. 

Yeah, poor Freddie. But hello clue!  
"What about the other victims? Did you notice them here as well? You've seen the pictures right?" Dean asked, excited to be getting somewhere, ready to take out the pictures in question. 

"Oh yes! The news show them constantly! Well, they're no regulars, but that's all I can really say. On the weekends there are lots of people from out of town here and it's impossible to keep track of all the faces. "

"So they could have come here without you knowing? "

"On the weekends, sure." Dean looked at the files and yep, jackpot. The three other victims disappeared on weekends. He'd found the connecting factor: Johnny's bar. 

"Thank you, you've helped a lot", he said, standing up and offered his hand to the girl.

"Really? Uh, I'm glad! " She smiled shakily, obviously confused, but also glad to be of help.

He nodded in goodbye and made his way outside, heading for the backyard. Aware that he should be calling Sam or Cas, he dismissed the notion. He was just going to look around a little, nothing dangerous. If he did find a clue to the missing persons case he would call, otherwise there was really no use for the three of them to be here with him. 

Probably only one djinn anyway, and he was not just some run of the mill hunter, how bad could it go?

 

***

 

As it turned out, very bad. He was just about to turn around the corner and search near the dumpsters Trisha had described, when he noticed the shadow coming up behind him. His honed hunter reflexes kicked in and he threw himself to the side, his shoulder crashing right into a wooden crate with rusty nails sticking out. Seriously, his luck sometimes. He winced at the bloody mess he could see of his shoulder - this screamed of infection - and turned to the creature that had just attacked him. 

Seemed that Cas was right, because this was definitely the ugly mug of a djinn. A trickle of blood crept down his forehead and he might have bumped his head somewhere, Dean hoped this did not involve a concussion, he hated those. Cas would have to get his revenge kick somewhere else, because this son of a bitch was his. 

He readied his weapon, observing the djinn's every move, focusing completely and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. A thumb to the back of his head caught him by surprise and he struggled to keep his eyes open, fighting against the pull of unconsciousness. It was a futile endeavor and he only got a glimpse of the other djinn stepping up behind him, before oblivion claimed him.

***

 

He was back at the barn, the First Blade gripped tightly in his fist as he fought a desperate battle against Cain. 

Something deep inside him knew it wasn't real, that he'd killed him already, but he couldn't stop the cycle from repeating itself. 

Cain's words echo ominously in his head, his eyes widening in manic intensity.  
_Has it never occurred to you? Have you never mused upon the fact that you're living my life in reverse? My story began when I killed my brother, and that's where your story inevitably will end._

He remembered the answer he'd given then. Never.  
He'd never do that, sink so low, loose himself that completely. 

Only he almost did. When he'd taken Death's scythe in his hand and stood over his brother's kneeling form, there was a moment, in which he had been ready to end it right there.

Bring their story to its inevitable end. 

No more suffering or death or guilt. Would it have really been so bad?  
The world wouldn't have missed them, there were other hunters around. 

The apparition of Cain flickered in front of him, repeating the words relentlessly, hammering them into Dean's head.  
_First ... first, you'd kill Crowley. There'd be some strange, mixed feelings on that one, but you'd have your reason. You'd get it done, no remorse._

Yes. He would.  
Crowley wasn't really his friend, wasn't his brother, but he knew he'd feel regret when killing him. In a weird way he'd gotten used to the selfish son of a bitch.  
The day would come though, soon, in which it didn't matter, just that Crowley was a demon and the King of Hell to boot. Still, the thought left him cold, with an uncomfortable taste in his mouth. 

The figure of Cain disappeared suddenly, together with the barn, leaving him in consuming darkness. 

_And then you'd kill the angel, Castiel. Now, that one ... that I suspect would hurt something awful_ , the voice whispered gloatingly into his ear.

No. 

Not that, NO!  
Not Cas, he'd never do that to him, he-

Abruptly the darkness transformed into the familiar interior of the bunker, only everything looked different, like a whirlwind went through the room and left it in shambles.  
Dread churned in his stomach, because he recognised the scene and it took only a moment of hesitation for him to turn around and see the bloodied figure on the floor. 

Bright blue eyes in a bruised face focused on him and pale lips opened to let out a choked whimper instead of words.  
Dean's heart pumped in a frantic rythm, he wanted to run away, forget this moment ever happened. Eradicate it from existence. Because he didn't deserve Cas friendship, not after what he'd done. Not after almost killing his best friend. 

_Dean, please_ , the figment of Cas mumbled in a familiar rough tone and all Dean wanted was to sink to his knees and beg for forgiveness, as well as flee to the ends of the world to hide away from those gentle, blue eyes. 

But he couldn't.  
The last time he'd just left without a backward glance, and even if this was just in his head, he would never abandon Castiel like that again. 

Steeling himself, he stepped forward with no clear intention in mind but to be _there_. To help. 

So naturally Cas just disappeared.  
Like he always did. When he'd needed him, more often then not, Cas had flapped off somewhere and was untraceable.

Frustration built up inside him, a searing feeling that quickly turned into irrational rage.  
After all Cas was an angel and they were just human, why would he bother to stick around? It just didn't work out sometimes. 

The anger faded as quickly as it came over him. He was the one that'd thrown Cas out, because of Gadreel and Sam. All Cas had ever done, was help them, put their needs above his own, even when they treated him as nothing more than a tool. 

Sure he'd made mistakes, but who honestly didn't? 

Funny, life had thaught Dean to use everything at his disposal to assure Sam's survival, and he could throw his own life away, no problem. Even strangers, innocents. Everything inside him was wired to maintain his brother's life, he'd killed Death because he couldn't kill Sam, couldn't let him die. Yet somehow Cas had become the one, curious exception to the rule.

 

There was a whoosh and Dean could feel a presence behind him, he could feel its stare burning into his back.  
He turned, had to, because something in the presence felt different, still fierce, but softer somehow. Not as relentless. And there's Cas, Castiel, standing in the white nothingness and it's not the bruised and broken angel from before. This time he's unhurt, a half smile playing across his lips and his hand is reaching out, palm held open, towards Dean. It was like nothing Dean had seen Cas do before, no memory attached to that gesture. 

_... When you finally turn, and you will turn... Sam, and everyone you know, everyone you love... they could be long dead. Everyone except me. I’m the one who will have to watch you murder the world,_ the apparition intoned in a gentle whisper, caressing each word. 

It was all wrong. He remembered the words, of course he fucking did, they'd been haunting him ever since, but Cas hadn't been like that. He'd been fierce and unrelenting. He'd forced Dean, even when he'd been so far gone, to acknowledge his words. This wasn't Cas, wasn't even something like Cas, it was a doll using words that didn't belong to it. 

The thing tilted Cas head to the side and continued, _So if there’s even a small chance that we can save you, I won’t let you walk out of this room._

And fuck this, what the hell was this thing doing? Reading his thoughts? His memories? 

The creature stepped forward, steadily getting closer, hand still thrust in front of it, as if that would encourage Dean to take it. _Take my hand, Dean_ , it pleaded in a soft voice and Dean flinched away. 

_Don't you trust me?_ , it whispered and Dean could see the demon in its eyes, not blue like Cas, but - black, red, yellow. 

Abruptly there was a weight in his right hand, instinct made his fingers close around it and a look down revealed his hand gripping onto the hilt of a knife. Ruby's knife. A flicker and it turned into an angel's blade, like those in his trunk, like Castiel's.  
Dean smiled viciously - because this was it, he could end it - and grasped the creature's hand, registering its sweet smile of surprise and pulled it forward into a mock embrace, while his hand darted out and sank deep into its flesh. 

It was a mockery of Dean's first meeting with Cas, how he'd stuck a knife into an angel and lived to tell the tale. Only this wasn't Castiel and this wouldn't end the same way. 

Dean took a step back from the thing wearing his friend's face and ripped the knife out of its stomach. There was a blinding light streaming from the wound, much brighter than the whiteness surrounding them, like an ethereal, glowing mist and a feeling of horror grew inside Dean. 

_Dean_ , the creature choked out, face twisted in familiar lines of despair and it crumpled to the floor like its strings were cut. The all consuming whiteness disappeared in a blink, replaced by blackness wherever the eye could see. It was disorienting and Dean stumbled, falling to the floor. His heartbeat sped up, breathing labored as his eyes fixed upon the only source of light. Dean could still see the being on the ground, faintly illuminated by the blood, grace, whatever it was, seeping out of its wound.

 _Dean_ , it called out, voice deeper this time and he could see its fingers grasping feebly for him. Dean froze just looking at those blue, blue eyes and the stricken, pleading face of his best friend in the whole goddamned world. 

"Cas?" he mouthed, the question almost inaudible. This couldn't be true, his mind was playing tricks on him. This wasn't Cas. Not Cas. Not his Cas.  
The being smiled at him, mouth twisted from a painful grimace to an upward curve. And... this was one of Castiel's rare smiles, where sadness lurked just beneath the surface and Dean would never forget those. 

This was real. 

"Cas!" Dean cried out and scrambled forward on his knees, limbs moving on their own until he reached the angel's side and grasped his hand firmly in his own. There was so much of the glowing stuff, soaking Castiel's shirt and no, no, no, it had to stay in! 

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, irrational anger burning in his veins as he pressed his other hand to the wound, hoping to stem the flow somehow, keep the grace from escaping. 

_You disappeared and I came to save you. A failure as you can see._ Dean cursed in response and Cas squeezed his hand. _It's alright, Dean_ , he murmured to him. _This is not important. You have no more time. The Darkness, Dean. You have to defeat the Darkness._

"What do you mean you're not important!" He pressed his hand harder to the wound, Cas wouldn't die. He was not allowed to die and if he had to hunt down god himself. No, he did not-, he'd never ki-... he'd never hurt Cas. This was all some kind of mistake. "You're important to me!" he ground out through gritted teeth and this couldn't be the last time he'd get to say that. But he could see the angel growing weaker, how the strength drained out of him, how there was nothing Dean could do. 

Cas tightened the grip on his hand with that painful smile still on his face. _You'll do it, Dean. You and Sam. I know you'll save the world._

"How can you say that? I'm a fuckup, you know I am. I can't do anything right, everything I touch breaks. So what if we prevented the apocalypse, I started it! I can't keep fixing the shit I fuck up!" Wetness dribbled on their joined hands and Dean bowed his head over his friend's prone body, as if he could protect him somehow. "We're losing, Cas."

 _No, we're not._ And there was a hand on Dean's cheek, stroking carefully over his wet skin and Cas eyes were ripping, wild pools of endless blue. _Because I have faith in you, Dean._

"Cas I -", Dean started but stopped when the angel's hand lost its strength and he caught it, holding it to his face. It was slack in his grip, unmoving and fear so deep and powerful shuddered through his body, freezing him in the moment. The feeling was familiar in a way, something he'd encountered and braved every time he'd seen his brother die. His family. His friends. 

But the intensity caught him off guard, it felt like a fist squeezing his heart until the pressure was nearly unbearable. Like he couldn't breathe anymore, no matter how hard his lungs worked. 

The glow was gone and he was left in darkness. 

Castiel was dead. 

 

And Dean- 

...Dean was broken. 

 

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's rescue and recovery from the ordeal of his abduction.
> 
> _"You missed Christmas", Cas announced in that bland tone normal people reserved for reading grocery lists or boring speeches._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know it's weird, this is the third time I've changed the summary of the story, but it just didn't feel right before. Anyone else ever experience that?

The blackness was relentless, everywhere. The voices of the dead clamoured for his attention, a cemetery of grief and guilt surrounded him, as he trudged on, going nowhere, in circles, wherever the dark led him. 

_Why didn't you save me?_ , Bobby's voice demanded, _You were like sons to me, both of you!_

 _I trusted you_ Kevin wailed, betrayal thick in his voice. 

_You were like a brother to me_ , Charlie sobbed. 

_A disappointment_ , muttered John Winchester, _Such a disappointment._

 

Dean ignored them and went on, after hearing the voices for so long, he learned to blend them out. It could have been days or mere hours after Castiel's death, time didn't matter here, wasn't running on the same speed as earth. Dean felt numb, like a blank slate. He'd promised himself he'd never hurt Cas again, and what was this? No, he didn't just hurt him, he'd murdered him, because he'd thought he was a demon. The irony. 

Darkness was everywhere. How was he supposed to defeat this? He was just a human, inconsequential and this was cosmic. 

But Cas had trusted him not to give up, right? That notion kept him going, made him set one foot in front of the other. 

Cas. 

Then the darkness changed. It didn't get a shape, no humanoid figure appeared. He couldn't see what was happening, his vision consisted of blackness, but there was something at his feet, a sensation of water lapping at his toes, -was he barefoot? - only it was more solid, mud-like in its texture and it made walking difficult. 

The dark liquid rose, higher, crawled along his calves, his thighs and it felt like thousands of wet fingers creeping along his skin, smearing it, marking him, consuming him piece by little piece.  
The ground disappeared and he sank deeper into the dark until he was pulled under the surface, completely immersed and unable to breathe.  
He choked on the strange liquid, as it forced its way down his throat, invading his body and streaming from his lungs to his other organs. 

Fighting it was futile, when the enemy had already won.  
Dean wanted to die. 

He couldn't think, couldn't do anything but endure, until there was nothing left of Dean Winchester. 

***

Confusion.  
Fear. 

He could feel himself lying on a rough surface. Cold, hard ground.  
Dean opened his eyes and there was no darkness to greet him. His breathing was ragged and sweat clung to his body, soaking his clothes. He ached everywhere, felt like some especially innovative torturer had pricked every inch of his skin with needles until there was no spot free of hurt.

Someone was kneeling behind him, out of sight. A hand stroked through his hair and it felt so good.  
For a second he'd thought it might be Cas, or Sam. The hand was too big, too rough though to be either. 

His muscles protested as he turned to look, and horror churned through his veins as he was confronted with the shape of Cain's face. Dean scrambled away until his back hit a wall, trying to get as far away as possible. 

The knight of hell smiled at him in a grotesque mockery of the sentiment and said with glee in his voice,  
_And then! Then would come the murder you'd never survive, the one that would finally turn you into as much of a savage as it did me. Your brother, Sam._

Like the farce of a play, figures appeared, puppets, taking the forms of Sam and himself. And finally recognition hit him, he remembered this place, how he'd brought fast food as an offering to Death and presented it on that table in the corner. 

No, god, no. He couldn't take this anymore. 

He watched Sam sink to the ground, kneeling in front of his brother, pleading for his life and Dean felt sick with nausea. Then the moment arrived in which Death gave him his scythe and there was no hesitation in this Dean's features as he grabbed the weapon.  
Sam lay down the photos, spread them out on the dirty ground, their family, but Dean showed no reaction. 

Still huddled against the wall, Dean's heart stopped. 

A moment of silence and then the scythe descended upon Sam, not making halt, but slicing through the flesh of his throat, until it reached bone. He could see Dean's muscles straining to cleave through the spinal cord and then it was done and Sam's head tumbled to the ground in a splatter of gore and blood. 

Dean screamed. 

The executioner stood sprinkled in red and unmoving in front of the corpse, surveying his work. The scythe still dripped in his brother's blood when he handed it back to Death.

Then it started again, from the beginning, with Sam sinking to his knees. 

It was like watching a movie, seeing a sequence played over and over until madness descended. 

 

***

He didn't know what exactly happened, how it stopped. There was a voice, Sammy maybe, crying out his name. Gentle, clumpsy hands cradled him and he was enveloped by the warm embrace of a body curling around him. Long hair tickled his nose and he sneezed. A flare of pain swept through his body as his muscles contracted. 

Dean opened his eyes. 

The body clutching him desperately close belonged to his brother. He could hear Sammy's laboured breathing, choked sobs and the repetition of his name.

Dean blinked.

There was a hand, one that didn't belong to his brother, squeezing his own in a strong grip. He looked to the side and wide, blue eyes met his. Cas. The angel looked sad and drawn, but he gave him one of his barely visible half smiles. Dean's heart made a jump and his mouth formed into an involuntary grin, despite the dull throb of pain.

This was it. Finally.

His eyes swept around the place, an old, abandoned warehouse from what he could see, searching for familiar faces. His heaven looked like nothing he'd imagined. Where was Charlie? His parents? Bobby? Kevin, Ellen, Jo, Ash- and so many more.

Shouldn't they be here? He'd always thought they would be there, when he finally kicked the bucket. Maybe he had to find them first. 

But then, there was no reason to complain. 

The two most important people in the world were here with him.  
The rest could wait.

 

***

Dean's first conscious, coherent thought was that he wasn't dead. 

For whatever reason he had survived.

And more surprising, he was glad, so _goddamned glad_.

His senses returned slowly, one at a time. The first feeling he registered was pain and tiredness. His body was aching all over and he was lying down on a bed, not his bed though, and too comfortable to belong to one of the crappy motels they frequented during hunts. This time opening his eyes took more effort, his lids were sticking together and everything was painfully bright. He glanced around, focusing on the white tiles, white ceiling and the sterile smell permeating the air. Hospital. 

Dean looked to the right, the motion hurting his neck, expecting to see Sammy sitting there. It was not Sam though, but the slighter figure of Cas sitting in the chair next to his bed. 

"You missed Christmas", Cas announced in that bland tone normal people reserved for reading grocery lists or boring speeches. 

"What?" He was dizzy, his vision blurred and nausea got hold of him. His head felt like it was short of bursting like those aliens in Mars Attack and he didn't want Cas to be splattered in icky, green brain matter. 

"This isn't Mars Attack, Dean", he said and Dean forced himself to open his eyes and see the half smile on Cas face and the familiar head tilt to the side. 

This was _real_.

He didn't kill Cas. He hadn't murdered the angel, who'd come to save him, in cold blood.  
The sheer relief was overwhelming, a massive weight lifted from his chest and he could breathe for the first time in what felt like months, years. 

"You were speaking out loud", Cas clarified, puzzled at his lack of response, and Dean desperately wanted to hug the dork, because it was Dean that had taught him to put all his downloaded movie knowledge in the right context and it was just so good to see him alive. But his muscles refused to move and it took him a moment to realise that he was swathed in bandages, more like a mummy than a live human being. 

He felt a little childish asking this, but he was injured and in the hospital, so he was entitled to some cheesy questions, damn it. "Did you have a tree?"

"No." Cas frowned. "It would have been pointless without you."

And it shouldn't matter so much, but it did. Dean cracked a grin and shoved the feeling down into the recesses of his mind. "Knew you'd miss me."

"Of course we did, Dean." And he looked at Dean like the mere notion of suggesting otherwise would be absurd. "We were very worried."

"Uh, yeah, so where's Sam?" Dean asked, fidgeting uncomfortably under Cas intent gaze. 

"He went to get coffee, but should be back shortly."

 

Right on cue Sam walked in, two steaming cups of coffee in his hands.  
"Oh, you're awake!" 

"Heya, bitch", Dean said with a teasing smirk.

"Jerk!" came Sam's automatic response and the brothers grinned at each other. The familiarity of the exchange settled something in Dean, the horror of watching his brother being decapitated hundreds of times by what appeared to be his own hand faded a little. For the moment at least, he was able to shove the nightmare into the deep recesses of his mind and lock it all away. 

His brother was alive. That was all that mattered. 

Sam settled down on the other chair next to Dean's bed and handed one of the cups to Cas.  
"Sorry I didn't bring you coffee, I didn't expect you to be awake." He winced looking honestly sorry.

Cas paused before taking a sip and offered, "Would you like mine? I don't need it."

Dean suppressed the urge to burst into laughter at the picture the angel presented. Holding out the coffee like an offering for him to take. And Cas had always been far too ready to give everything for the Winchesters.  
Smiling at Cas, he shook his head.  
"No thanks, too much sugar, Cas. I'd rather have water, anyway." It was still rather strange to see how fond the angel had grown of the beverage.

Sam promptly rose and pressed a full glass of water to his lips, helping him drink.

"So, what's with the hospital?" Dean asked, stealing a furtive glance at Cas, "I haven't been admitted for ages."

"Sorry, Cas couldn't heal you right after we took care of the djinns, had too little juice, so we had to bring you here. And later it would have gotten too much attention to have a miraculous healing in a hospital", Sam esplained and Cas ducked his head.

"Hey, it's alright!" Dean hastily reassured him. "You were probably pretty out of it, huh?"

"It was very taxing, we didn't expect to encounter a nest", Cas confirmed. 

"But you got all of them?"

"Definitely", Sam assured and Cas nodded in agreement. 

Dean felt strange asking, but the question won't stop buzzing around his head. "So, uh, what date is it?"

With a grimace Sam replied, "21st of January, I think."

"Oh! That's, what, a month?" Dean questioned feebly, overwhelmed at the thought that one month of his life was just gone. He hadn't _just_ missed Christmas. 

 

***

Recovery was a long, arduous process. His body was weak and he'd lost so much blood, since the damn things fed on the stuff like freaking vampires. Didn't help that one of the things stabbed him during their fight with Sam and Cas, which had been seriously unnecessary and annoying to boot. 

The doctors and nurses in the hospital were all fussing over him and his _fragile condition_ and they looked positively freaked every time one of them only mentioned his possible release. Never mind that his health would improve rapidly at home, Cas would just give him the magic finger - and bam, back to perfect health. 

Try explaining that to medical personal. 

To be perfectly honest, it wasn't all bad. It was kind of relaxing that to take a time out from hunting, especially since things were quiet on the Darkness/Amara front. At least for now. Who knows how long they'd got until shit hit the fan. 

He had finally time to get hooked on new, interesting tv series - Cas had many recommendations - and enjoy rewatching Doctor Sexy M.D., the DVD Set had been a surprisingly nice christmas present from Sam. In return Dean told him where he'd stacked his present in the bunker. Dean thought his gift or rather gifts were very thoughtful. A nice, brown leather wallet and a book entitled _"The easy Guide to a Man Bun Hairstyle"_. Yep, totally fitting for his brother. 

God, how he would have loved to see Sammy's face, when he'd discovered the book. The cons of staying in hospital long term.

In contrast Cas' present to him was a little more... innovative. Basically, he got him a rock. 

Well, not exactly a rock, Cas called it a _mineral_. Of course they'd set him up with his own fake credit cards, but Cas had read somewhere that gifts should come from the heart. Apparently that was impossible to achieve with scammed money.

Hence the rock.

Admittedly, it looked nice. Mostly blue with other colours mixed in. Cas told him he'd found it in Australia and apparently it was a black opal. And though Dean didn't quite know what to do with it, he liked it. 

In hospital he'd set it on his bedside table and let the nurses admire it and well, later he'd find somewhere to place it in the bunker. Maybe next to one of his favourite guns or something. 

Unfortunately he couldn't exactly give Cas his present, it just wouldn't work that way. 

So the angel would just have to wait until they were back home.

 

***

Two weeks later:

The second they were out of view from the hospital, Castiel thrust his hand out and reached for Dean's shoulder. A tingling warm spread from the point of contact and all residue of pain disappeared from one second to another. He hadn't even noticed in how much pain he still was, until Cas removed every bit to the slightest twinge. He must have grown used to a certain level of discomfort during his treatment and the release of it felt amazing. 

"You could have at least waited until we're in the car", he grumbled good-naturally, not really meaning any of it. 

Cas looked at him, unmistakable fondness in his gaze. "I don't like seeing you in pain, Dean."

And that..., yeah. Cas continued to stare at him with an intensity no human would be capable of, and Dean held his own, didn't back down, though it was difficult. 

A blush crept along Dean's cheeks and he finally averted his eyes, just as Sam took the opportunity to cough and pointedly talk about the possible Wendigo case he'd found on the internet.

The sight of the Impala, no dents, no scratches, was a balm to his heart and he fairly lit up, when they came in sight of the car.  
"Oh baby, sorry to leave you so long", he crooned, hand gliding over the smooth coat of lacquer.

The consequent drive was wonderful in its routine and simplicity. They arranged themselves in their usual tableau with Dean in the driver's seat ("Nobody's gonna drive my baby but me!"), Sam sitting shotgun ("Could you at least get some _new_ tapes?", "What did we say about shutting one's cakehole? And they're classics, Sammy. _Classics_!) and Cas in the back ("I believe all music to be beautiful in its essence.", "...Thanks, Cas. ")

Settling back into the bunker was easy, all of them relieved to be back at their base, which in some ways had become more of a home than just a place to plan and rest. 

Leaving Sam with the task of preparing dinner, which was greeted with grumbled mutterings, he searched out Cas. The angel was back in his room and watching netflix. Dean laughed a little at the predictability of Castiel's behaviour. 

"You got a moment?" he asked with a shake of his head. 

The angel perked up. "Of course, Dean."

"Good. Remember how you didn't get your Christmas present? Since I was kind of out of comission then, you're gonna get it now."

Cas furrowed his brow and assured him, "There's really no need, Dean."

"I know that, okay." He rolled his eyes. "I _want_ to give it to you. Been working on it for months, alright?"

At least now Cas looked intrigued. 

"So, follow me." And with those words he left the room, confident that Cas would eventually appear behind him.

Dean led him through the whole bunker, Cas trudging after him in confusion, until they reached the entrance to the Men of Letters garage. With Castiel in tow he headed straight towards the Impala, but didn't stop there, tugging his friend a little further to the side. 

There, right next to the Impala stood a gleaming, freshly polished, golden car. 

Gesturing towards it, Dean asked with obvious anticipation, "What do you think?"  
In response Cas tilted his head in question. "I don't understand what you mean, Dean."

"Well, the car! It's, uh, a _1960 Continental Mark V convertible_. I saw it in the garage a few months back, and since Metatron stole your car... . See, I know how much you liked it, and this is not the _78 Lincoln Continental Mark V_ model, but well with the colour and everything I thought it was close enough?" he stopped his rambling and glanced sheepishly at Cas. 

For a long while Cas just stared at the car, then asked, "This is - mine? My present?"

"Well, yeah? You need a car, right? I tuned it up and everything. Had to replace some parts and repair others, no surprise really, it's been collecting dust since the sixties. It's in good condition though now."

Cas didn't move a muscle, stood unmoving, like a statue, staring at the car with wide eyes.

 

"So, uh, you like it?" Dean asked nervously, scratching at his neck. 

And fuck, Cas' eyes were glistening with wetness and what was he supposed to _do_? 

 

"I love it", he said very quietly, still staring at the car.

Then Cas turned back to him and his smile was blinding. 

 

***

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested in the car: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lincoln_Mark_series#/media/File%3A1960_Lincoln_Continental.jpg  
> And the rock (black opal) I pictured: https://i.imgur.com/OYQ3b.jpg  
> (It's so pretty, right?)
> 
> And I know I initially tagged it with Castiel/Dean, but it kind of turned into more of a friendship fic with an implied relationship. I hope I didn't disappoint anyone because of this. 
> 
> And finally, I would be very happy about some comments or kudos. Constructive criticism is very welcome, I really want to improve my writing. Thanks for reading!


End file.
